Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Cupid
has been a very naughty boy. The Cupid’s Conquest series is a multi-author
series started with Gunshy by Seleste Delaney and the latest offering is Irish
Kisses by Ella Grey.

Irish Kisses

The
thing with love is it’s all about finding that happy ending. Sometimes it isn’t
that simple. People have a habit of making it complicated.

Eros
can’t be everywhere at once so for this particular match-up he’s got some old
fashion help. Serendipity is the muse of happy endings and her brand of help
raises questions that fate might be planning in the hand of the blossoming
relationship between Abigail Smith and Seth O’Connor.

Abigail
Smith is having a particularly bad week.

Abby’s
best friend and fellow lawyer Dawn Philips has been murdered and while Abby
wants to bring down the man behind her death. Her bosses decide that she’s too
personally connected. She’s told to take some time off and let someone else
handle the case. The thing is, the case is falling apart and Abby just can’t
let it go. A mysterious private eye pays her a visit and suddenly Abby finds
herself on a plane to Ireland.

There
she meets Seth O’Conner.

Seth
is on holiday, travelling to Ireland to see the place where he grew up. He
expected to drink too much Guinness and have some much needed fun. He didn’t
expect Abigail Smith, the beautiful redhead and the blistering hot encounter
they share in the aeroplane bathroom. She’s got secrets and it takes a brutal
attack for Seth to learn them.

Now
he has no intention of leaving her side.

Biography

Ella
Grey is a full-time writer, with a little monster, a big monster and a cat who
might actually be Satan.

The
first instalment of the Molly O’Brien novella series was released in 2010. It
was quickly followed by the Rachel Valentine eshort series, aimed at young
adults. The Red Dress, her first attempt at adult fiction was released by
Evernight Publishing as part of their Just Vamps anthology.

She
thrives on new challenges and can’t wait to sink her teeth into a new story or
a new genre. She can usually be found in front of her netbook with her earplugs
in. Bother her at your own peril. You’ve been warned.

For
more information about latest releases or a glimpse into the mind of a writer
with a full plate, Ella can be found here.

She
looked up and into the green eyes of the guy who’d checked her out earlier. He
actually looked concerned, and it left her wondering what she must look like.
“No,” she said bluntly. “If God wanted us to fly he’d have given us a pair of
nifty wings.”

He
laughed as he sat down next to her. “Then why did you choose to fly?”

“Maybe
it’s because I’m lacking anything close to common sense.” She closed her eyes
and rested her head on the chair in front of her. She heard a stewardess asking
if she was alright, and the guy mumbled something to her.

“It’s
okay. I’ll keep an eye on her.” Abby heard something that sounded like a wallet
opening. “I’m a cop, so she’ll be okay with me.” A slight pressure on her lower
back caused her to look up. “Do you want a drink?”

She
nodded. “Anything alcoholic would be great, thanks.” Alcohol would help numb
her senses a little.

As
the stewardess left, she realised the cop was still rubbing her back. It felt
nice. If she focused on those small round movements, it took her focus away
from the motion sickness. “I’m Abby.”

“Excuse
me?”

“Well,
since you’re touching me I thought we should at least exchange names.” She
smiled to show she was kidding. He
removed his hand and Abby felt a swell of panic as the sickness came back
suddenly. “Please, don’t stop. It is actually helping.”

He
put his hand back and Abby looked down at the ground again.

“I’m
Seth.”

“So
you’re really a cop?”

He
chuckled and it was the most dangerous sound Abby had ever heard, it made her
heart pick up its steady pace and the dark place between her legs wet. “That’s
want the badge usually means.”

She
smiled, even knowing he couldn’t see it. She heard the stewardess come back
with their drinks, and she slowly got up. Seth handed her one of the bottle of
beer. “I’m sorry I don’t think they have anything else, unless you want water?”

“No
this is perfect, thanks.” She brought the bottle to her lips and took a slow
drag from it. “I’m sorry for ruining your flight.”

“Not
at all, I came over here to talk to you anyway.”

His
bluntness took her breath away, “Really, why?”

He
took a quick drink and Abby watched as his tongue flicked out to catch a bead
of liquid at the top of the bottle. “Just curious, are you visiting family?” He
asked, quickly changing the subject.

She
shook her head. “I’m visiting for work.”

“What
do you do?”

“I’m
a lawyer, but I’m doing a little freelance work at the moment.” While it wasn’t
a complete lie, she didn’t want to go into any gory details. She didn’t want
him to get that look of sympathy that everyone at her office seemed permanently
fixed on their faces. “I’m going to Dublin. I’m looking for someone.”

Abby
took another pull from the bottle. It felt good to be able to talk to somebody.
For one it took her mind off her travel sickness, and since she found it hard
to drag her eyes away from him, it was an added bonus. Now if she could just
stop thinking how it felt to have his hand on her, it would be perfect.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

This week (and a few weeks leading up to
this week) is a busy and stressful time at my work. One of four high-stress
times that happen each year at my work. Everyone I work with has a deadline to
meet which requires a lot of preparation leading up to said deadline. Now, I know I’ve
talked about my type-A behaviours in the past, but for those of you who don’t
know, I’m a bit of a brown-noser (my husband likes to make kissing noises when
I tell him something I’ve done at work that he believes is over the top...this
happens frequently.) When I have a deadline or I agree to do something, I do
it. Usually immediately...or as soon as humanly possible. I don’t like to sit
on work and once I start, I do it until it’s done. I’m dependable...some might
say anal...others curse and or mock me.

Every year, four times a year, I get
the same question from someone in the building who doesn’t know me well enough
to know better... “Hey, Angie, you get your project done?” If I’m alone, I
simply nod and say, “yep, I did.” If I’m with someone who knows me, they usually
answer on my behalf, “Who, Angie? She got it done two days ago.” Snort. (I’m
sure you can see why my husband makes ass-kissing noises.)

This is the way I am. I can’t change it. I
don’t slack off. Ever.

I’ve heard some writers say that the only
way to be a successful writer is to treat it like a job. To set goals and work
every day whether you feel like it or not. I don’t believe in a muse and I
don’t believe in writer’s block. I do believe that your ability to write (and
I’m not talking skill but the act of sitting down and writing) is dependant, to
some extent, on your state of mind. A person, an event, life in general can
impact your ability to sit down and get the job done. I haven’t been very good
at my writer job these days. I've been getting part of the job done...the editing part but the actual writing...yeah...not so much. The ideas are there...the plan is set, the outline written, but up until a week ago, my drive was M.I.A. It's an unusual and uncomfortable feeling for a type-A to not have a goal. It hasn’t been a great year for me. Which is probably the understatement of the century.

I have some wonderful friends (both
virtually and in real life) and supportive family who have been working hard to
get my ass back in the game, to help boost my mood and my confidence. They
stroke my ego, they give me love and slowly, slowly I am feeling more like my
anal, brown-noser writer self. I’m not working to my potential...yet...but I’m
getting there.
So, those of you in the same boat, chin up, tits out (thanks Tammy ;-) and keep on writing...sooner or later you'll figure out how to ride that bike again.